Bitter-Sweet
by Jaslyn
Summary: Gloss seeks Cashmere out on her birthday, looking to fill the void the Games have created between them. M for Incest/Smut
1. 1

**A/N: Written for the Caesar's Palace Nova Challenge Prompt: Stars. Warning: Contains depictions of Incest.**

* * *

Like diamonds strewn across mourning cloth; stars scatter the inky blackness of the sky. It's a clear night, and a solitary disc of white gold has set itself in among the gems; an ethereal sight, but Gloss keeps his head down, avoiding the ornamental imagery above him and its reflection in the lake below. He shuts his eyes and remembers the diamonds scattered upon their Father's velvet-lined workbench, and the carefree afternoons spent with Cashmere, sorting them according to weight. Somewhere in his thoughts, the image of a girl appears: with blonde plaited hair, piercing green eyes and a smile which is a splitting image of his own.

He opens his eyes and sighs. Standing knee-high in the windswept grass, Gloss stares at the hollow patch of darkness by the lake, and his heart clenches.

A void has formed between them; he knows that. It's far too easy to miss each other in the immense Capitol-sponsored apartment during their trips there. The only clue he has of her presence are the frequent sobs and the occasional scream he hears from her room. But sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night heaving with cold sweat on his face and tears in his eyes; and wonders if it was really himself he heard. He avoids her eyes during the train rides back to District 1, and she pretends he's just another piece of furniture in the train cabin; usually a mirror.

With the stealthiness of a leopard stalking its prey, Gloss shifts his weight through the grass, moving only when the breeze whispers through the silence. As he slips closer and closer, she comes into view: a pale figure turned away from him, her matted blonde hair seamless with the savannah. Despite his childhood instincts telling him that this would be the time to rush in and surprise her – he knows they're broken adults now, and he'd more likely receive a knife flying at him rather than the chirp of her melodic giggles.

But he receives neither, merely the softest of whispers he would've missed if the breeze had been blowing.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

Gloss freezes in his tracks and thinks, before reminding himself that he doesn't have to.

"We're twins, Cash. Half a brain each - remember?"

She chortles, her voice a beam of light in the darkness. The sound of pain beneath her laughter causes him to sigh, and he resists the urge to look at her face; familiar with the pain that stabs through his heart every time he does. But he sees her wiping her eyes and feels it anyway.

"Everyone's looking for you," he mutters, staring at the unopened bottle of whiskey laying by her pedicured feet.

"I don't care," she scowls, keeping her gaze fixed on the grass.

"Well, it's your birthday. You can't expect me to pretend to be you and blow out your own candles, right?"

"It only worked when we were kids," she says, the bitter reminiscence seeping through her voice.

"You should go back. I'm sick of everyone asking me where you are."

"If you came here just to make me return," she says, hesitating on her next words, "you can go now. Because I'm not going back."

"Well, I might as well give you your present anyway," he says, pressing the gift into her damp hand, "I made it myself."

She lifts the watch to her eyes and squints at it through the darkness. Plain leather strap, stainless steel casing, clock-face woven from cashmere – and not a gemstone in sight.

"It's not much, I tried to keep it simple."

"I know," she whispers, planting a kiss on her brother's cheek, "it's perfect. Thank you so much."

Cashmere rips apart another watch shackled around her wrist, scattering bits of gold and silver bracelet links onto the ground. It was a gift from a wealthy political officer, but there was nothing diplomatic about the way he shoved it in her face on a sweaty palm while she clutched the sheets to herself. _Fuck politics, _Cashmere thinks, flinging the heavily jeweled timepiece as far as she can, and watching it shatter the lake's surface. Gloss sees her lips curl into a smile as she adorns her bruised wrist with his gift.

"That was a pretty expensive watch you threw away. Was it a-"

"Shut up, it's gone now," she scowls, still admiring the plain watch on her wrist, "if anyone asks I'll tell them you made this for my birthday."

"Hey look, you're not the only one," he says, ripping off the diamond- and sapphire-encrusted cufflinks on his sleeves. Someone gave it to him, but he can't remember who; the faces of heavily made-up women with jewelry in their outstretched palms blend into one another over the years. He tosses them into the water, adding two sets of ripples to the one she made.

"I threw mine further," he gloats.

"Oh yea? Watch this," she scoffs, standing and ripping a set of pearls from her neck. With the poise of an athlete, she leans back and hurls it into the night. The chain of white globules sails through the air, glimmering in the moonlight – before it splashes into the water a short distance further than his.

"Not over yet," he says, pulling a ring from his finger and trotting a few steps before painting a golden arc in the darkness.

"Hey not fair! No running."

Next, a stack of bangles jingles as it slides off her wrist. She divides it with him and they giggle while taking turns to toss the ruby-encrusted hoops into the lake, each one further than the next. When they're done, he rips off his gold-buckled belt and adds it to the heap of jewelry now adorning the lake bed. Cashmere removes her earrings and tosses it in, not caring about how far she throws anymore.

"Alright we should stop," he pants, "before we both end up naked."

She smiles, her chest heaving at the exhilaration of reliving memories long stolen by the Games and everything thereafter.

"Do you remember swimming in this lake at night?" she asks.

_How could I forget? _he thinks. The warm summers when training stopped so the Academy students could enjoy a week away just to be children. The shrill of laughter and swish of water splashing about – now silent in the inky darkness of the night.

"We played the pebble tossing game, and I always won," he recalls.

"We would lay on the shore, and you'd tell me the names of the stars," she remembers, finally allowing her gaze to venture skywards.

"It's been a while, I forgot them all," he says, lying next to her and gazing at the star-studded sky.

_I don't care, _she thinks, _we were happy children, and that's all that mattered. _

"We had picnics too," he continues, "Mum and Dad let us try champagne once."

"Well, no champagne tonight, but I made some pastries for the party," she says, reaching into a paper bag, "there's only one left though."

Gloss takes the tart and instinctually breaks half of it for her. She stares at the broken piece of pastry perched on her hand in puzzlement, before remembering – _they've always shared their food. _

"It looks like the night sky," he says, examining the dusting of icing sugar on the coating of dark chocolate, "did you do that on purpose?"

"Maybe," she replies, leaning on his chest, "_maybe it reminded me of you_."

The siblings nibble on their halves of chocolate pastry in silence. The sugar brings a rush of sweetness, followed by a lingering bitterness from the chocolate that lasts long into the aftertaste. Gloss doesn't say it, but he knows his sister is a skilled enough pâtissierto have done that deliberately. This was exactly how winning the Games felt: a momentary rush of euphoria - followed by a lifetime of regret.

"That was some intense baking you did there," he says, licking his fingers clean, "made me do some soul-searching of my own."

A smile spreads across her face. She knows he got the message, after all – they have half a brain each.

"Did you like it?" she asks.

"Of course," he replies.

Gloss watches as the last bit of pastry perched between her manicured fingers disappears between her glossy lips. Beneath the full moon, the streaks of smeared chocolate lining her fingers look like tendrils of blood dripping down her hand. He shuts his eyes and takes her fingers between his lips, licking away the chocolate.

"Oh my g-gosh," she stutters, her cheeks flushing cherry-red, "do you do that for-"

"No," he lies through his teeth, "only my sister has the privilege."

"How do I taste then?" she asks, her fingers trembling upon his lips.

"Bitter-sweet."

Cashmere watches as her brother finishes licking every trace of chocolate, and she wonders if he can feel her throbbing pulse through her fingers. A part of her wants to yank her hand away and withdraw into that vacant shell of her own thoughts, where he's just a mirror in the corner of the room. But another part of her can't get over how _alive _she's feeling right now, and it's been a long time since she last did.

"Like how I felt when I saw you win," she whispers, slipping her fingers into his, "you were alive, but I knew you'd never really come back. No one does."

"I wouldn't be able to reach you even I tried," he sighs, looking away.

"You f-found me here," she stutters, clutching his hand and trying her best not to sob, "I guess t-that counts as a try?"

"We're twins, Cash. Maybe we have half a heart each as well, and they'll always be two halves trying to find each other."

Cashmere turns and grasps her brother's shirt, just _needing_ to see if he meant it. For the first time tonight he's forced to look into her eyes and every instinct within him tells him to avoid them. But tonight's different; they've mended a bridge between them torn by trauma and shame. So, instead of looking away, he pulls her head down and kisses her.

He didn't know what to expect, and he's taken away by how _fragile_ her lips feel. For her, it's like she's kissing for the very first time, and she feels like she's falling further and further forward. When she finally manages to pry herself from him, her eyes are red – but the pain he usually sees in them is gone.

"You taste the same," she whispers, tracing her fingers along his cheek, "bitter-sweet boy."

This time she leans in, and in the darkness their bitter-sweet lips melt into one another – until only sweetness remains.


	2. 2

**A/N: Warning: Contains Depictions of Incest**

* * *

It's been a long time since either of them have willingly kissed another person, and they've forgotten how it's _supposed_ to feel. It takes a moment for the adrenaline to seep into their muscles; the trembling to start at their fingers and course its way into the pits of their stomachs. But by the time they part their lips and exhale against each other with fingers bunched around blonde tufts of hair, they're beyond any doubt about how _right _this feels.

"Y-you're a good k-kisser," she sighs, closing her eyes and feeling her face flush. After everything she's been made to do, she can't imagine how anyone could make her blush anymore. But gazing at the green eyes above her – the boy whom she shared the cradle with; she can't help but feel the blood rush to her face.

Gloss resents her words; he's gotten this good at kissing after years of practice he wished he didn't have. But he hears Cashmere whisper his name against his lips, and he touches them to hers again. She gasps against him, her breath taken away by the poignancy of pleasure coursing through her face that simple touch brings.

"I've always imagined what it'd be like to kiss you," he sighs, running his hands along her chiffon dress.

"I thought it'd be like kissing myself," she whispers against his ears, "but it's something else isn't it?"

"It's like we were _meant _to," he says, grazing his lips along her ears.

"That's it," she sighs, rubbing her neck along his, "we were always meant to."

His fingers trail along her hips, slipping past the hem of her dress and running up her thigh. A voice begins to creep into his mind - _that's your baby sister you're touching. _But the sound of her purring in his ears causes him to forget how this could ever be wrong.

The last time Cashmere remembers grasping something this hard was when she reached the final two and it was her knife against another Career's sword. It wasn't bloodlust that turned her knuckles white as snow - it was the hope of seeing her brother again. Tonight, she clutches onto his shirt in the vivid anticipation of where her brother's fingers are going next. She's so lost in the sensation of his touch that she doesn't notice his fingers slipping off the straps holding her dress up and she doesn't protest when he picks her up and lays her down on the grass, shuddering when he runs his fingers down her body.

"Cold night, Cash?" he teases, feeling her skin prickle beneath his touch.

"We'll see who's colder after I'm done with you," she teases back, unbuttoning his shirt. She peels the shirt over his broad shoulders and allows her fingers to wander along the lines of his muscles. In her mind, Cashmere wonders about the last time she saw her brother like this, and why it didn't have the same effect as he's having on her now.

"Half a chocolate tart not enough for you?" he asks, noticing her tongue sliding across her lips, and he kisses her scowl away before she has a chance to reply.

_I want you, _she thinks, trembling at the touch of Gloss's fingers trailing along her ribs. A gasp escapes her and she bites down on her lower lip as he caresses her breasts. Her fingers grasp desperately at the grass, his hair, elbows, _anything _that could ground her in the unfamiliar pleasure coursing through her body. Eventually, they end up around his hips, and she pulls him flush against her own. Her lips curl into a smile when she feels a hard lump between his legs pressing back against her.

"You're-" she smirks, before being cut off by a rabid moan rising from the pit of her stomach. She clutches her brother's wrist and a whimpered plea sputters between her lips before he strokes her there again.

"Did you just tell me to stop?" he teases. But he doesn't want to, not with her face contorted in pleasure like this.

"Don't," she moans, reaching down to take off her underwear and realizing he's already done it for her.

Her fingers bunch up around a tuft of his blond hair and she yanks his head firmly along hers. Gloss bides his time, kissing along her neck while he strokes inside her and trying to resist the guilt of using the same tricks he's used so often to satisfy other women.

_She's your sister, _his conscience whispers to him between her feral growls, _you're fingering your own sister. _

But there's another voice inside him to be contended with; a voice manifesting itself in the throbbing bulge between his legs. Cashmere knows it – after all, they've always looked after each other, and know what the other's thinking.

"You l-look like you n-need some h-help with t-that," she stammers, slipping her trembling fingers beneath his pants and tugging them down his hips.

Beneath the shimmering night sky, their pale limbs and matted blonde hair tangle and meld with each other until it's impossible to tell them apart.

"Oh god," Cashmere whimpers, clutching onto her brother's arm flexing beneath a sheen of sweat. Gloss buries his head into her blonde curls and inhales deeply as he sends his sister hurtling towards something she hasn't felt in a long time.

"You smell incredible," he whispers into her ear, "I hate that pungent Capitol perfume they make you put on."

"Shut up," she gasps, "you're ruining-"

But she doesn't finish the sentence, her last words melting away into a loud moan as she twitches around his finger. All the pent up hurt and anger inside her dissolves into one unitary wave of pleasure that brims over and envelopes every fiber of her being.

"P-please," she stutters, her nails raking long parallel lines along his biceps. These would be hard to explain to his stylist; he hasn't been booked for weeks. He notices a glistening trail down her cheek, and clutches her trembling body to himself.

"Shh, don't cry," he whispers to her like he used to a long time ago, "I'm here."

But he doesn't mind if she does; for in that solitary tear seeping down her face, Gloss sees the silent pain she's been enduring throughout the years seeping out of her soul.

In the bliss of Cashmere's post-orgasmic bliss, their fingers find each other. He seats himself on the grass and pulls her into his lap facing him. His fingers slide along the dimples lining her lower back as she straddles him. A beaming smile spreads across her face as she takes him between her fingers and teases his length against her entrance.

"We're going to do this then?" he whispers, and wonders if he'll feel guilty after. _She probably won't, _he thinks, watching the hunger on her face as she fits him to herself.

With near-euphoric dosages of dopamine still rife within her body, Cashmere forgets she usually braces herself for the pain – and she's unprepared for the red-hot poker of pleasure stabbing deep into her.

"Fuck," she cries out, nibbling on his earlobe.

"You cussed," he teases, "I'm telling."

"I dare you to," she stutters back, "I'd love to hear what-"

He bucks his hips up to meet hers and she cries out again, her voice cutting through the night air. Cashmere wraps her arms around her brother's shoulders and holds onto him as they make love in the darkness. It's like nothing they've ever done before, consensual or not. But at the same time it feels like they've done it a million times - each rise and fall of their hips mirroring each other perfectly.

Amidst the smoldering heat of their union, she tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him close to her chest. Gloss allows his lips to run along his sister's chest, kissing away at the sheen of sweat lining her breasts. He touches his tongue to her nipples, and grins against them when he looks up and sees her head flung back in ecstasy.

For him, it's undoubtedly the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

His lips seal around a nipple while fondling her other breast, adding to the long list of ministrations sending her to another climax. He grits his teeth as her nails dig into his shoulder blades, and he clutches onto her body when she drags them along his skin.

"Ouch," he gasps, his voice barely audible above her gasping and moaning.

She leans forward and rides him feverishly, the fervency of her desire having outpaced his. Before long, the grinding of his skin against her is enough to send her over the edge, and he feels her toes curling against his knees as she tightens her grasp on his hair.

"Fuck, Cash," he mutters, feeling her convulse around his length, "you're killing me."

She doesn't call him out for swearing this time, and he doubts she even heard him. It's hard to when she's sobbing and whimpering his name like it was the last good thing left on earth for her.

_She's your sister, _his conscience prickles him, _and you did this to her. _

Gloss leans back and takes in the sight before him: her matted blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, her heaving breasts glistening in the moonlight, those pale shoulders still trembling from her climax. Something else begins to stir within him, and he resists the urge to throw her onto the grass and fuck her like she didn't mean anything to him.

"You've stopped," she says.

"Just catching my breath," he replies, before slipping his fingers around her hips.

With a deft tug of his wrist, she crumbles to the ground next to him, and her heart aches at the feeling of him slipping away from within her.

"Come here," she pleads, and he obeys, regretting every moment they've spent apart.

He pulls her leg over his, and tries to keep his lust from showing when he pushes into her. _But she knows, _a voice reminds him, _she always had. _

"I want you," he breathes into her hair.

"I always have," she whispers back, "maybe we just didn't know it."

"Seriously, Cash - you take my breath away every time you smile."

"We have the same smile," she says, "the kind that breaks and mends hearts."

"We're perfect for each other then," he murmurs, rubbing his lips along her jaw.

He clutches her hips and shuts his eyes, trying not to be too rough with her. Cashmere cradles her brother's sweat-lined face and kisses him. But it's short-lived, his quivering lips part in a contorted expression of ecstasy as his fingers bunch around her hair and he buries his face into her neck.

Cashmere pulls his shuddering body close to her when he finishes, and with an aching heart - whispers a few words into his ear. Immediately, she wishes she hadn't said them, and a part of her hopes he didn't hear it. But when her brother whispers those words back - she's never felt so complete in her entire life.

Beneath the star-swept sky, the shimmering lake is a splitting reflection of the ethereal sight above; likewise, the two pale, naked bodies lying in the grass are identical to each other, right down to their green eyes and broken souls – now mended.


End file.
